Scenes from a Life
by Epicurus
Summary: Not a traditional story, but rather a series of scenes and oneshots from the lives of various characters, as I see them. Kigo.
1. Meetings

A/N: Kim Possible and associated characters are the property of Disney. The character of Eddie was created by sPs and is used with permission. Thanks to Ffordesoon for an excellent editing job.

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"A double of Jack, rocks," Shego growled as she flopped onto the barstool. With a baleful look at the bartender, an unshaven and slightly overweight man in a stained shirt, the ex-thief rested her elbows on the Crow's well pitted formica bartop. Loud and atonal music, blaring from speakers mounted in shadowed corners, exacerbated her growing headache. Never mind, the booze would fix that. She kneaded her temples with her thumbs, wallowing in her black mood.

She looked around the dark room, eyes sliding over the other patrons, not really paying them any attention. A few regulars, a couple of guys she didn't know. Probably just some sad bastards drinking their night away, anyway. You didn't come to a dive bar to do anything else.

Her drink arrived, the amber liquid sloshing as it was placed none-too-gently on the bar.

"Two bucks," the bartender said. Shego looked up at the him and frowned.

"Put it on my tab."

The bartender sighed petulantly. "You're gonna have to pay that off eventually, lady," he said, crossing his rather thick arms in a gesture undoubtedly meant to look intimidating.

She gave him an arch look. "Yeah, but not tonight." The bartender sighed again and wandered off, grumbling something about goddamn customers and their goddamn problems, and didn't he have a bar to run, and didn't he need to pay his rent, and Shego tuned him out too. She drained her drink in one go, wincing at the flavor. Jack was a terrible whiskey, but it was the best this place had. No Black Label at the Crow. Hell, no scotch of any kind. Lovely place. She snorted. She wasn't here for the atmosphere, or for the company, or for the drink selection. She wasn't here to dance, or to sing, or to meet anyone.

Shego was here to get stinking drunk, drown her anger in booze, and try to forget the last three hours.

So when some bastard had the nerve to plop down beside her and go "Hey," all friendly-like, she had to restrain herself from lighting up and burning his face off. Instead, she settled for turning around sharply and snarling, "Do I _look_ like I want anyone to–" only to be greeted by the widely grinning face of Eddie Griggs, one-time head henchman in Drakken's little "evil family". "Holy shit," she finished.

"Hey, boss," Eddie said levelly, taking a sip of his beer. "Long time, no see." Shego blinked, her momentary anger evaporating and leaving only the hard nugget in her chest that she was trying to drink away.

"You got that right," she said, putting down her empty glass with a _thunk_. "What the hell are you doing in this hole?" She motioned for another drink, which the unsmiling bartender arrived with after some delay.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said. "This doesn't seem like your scene. I'd expect something a little classier, you know?" He laughed. "Long day at work. Professor Dementor isn't as easy as the Doc was, so sometimes I come here to unwind." Eddie took another drink of his beer. "So, what's your story?" Shego huffed and sipped her drink.

"Lady troubles," she said with a bitter laugh. Eddie smirked knowingly at her.

"One lady in particular, or just the entire gender?" He blinked. "Not counting yourself, I guess." Shego laughed and fiddled with her glass, watching the amber liquid slosh around a bit.

"One lady. Hey, you want the shock of your life?" Her voice was mischievous, anger abating for the moment. She could use a laugh, and telling Eddie about Princess would do for entertainment. Be nice to see a guy fall off his stool. "Guess who it is. I'll give you a hint: someone we know from working with Doctor D." Eddie snorted.

"Softball. It's Kim Possible, the Cheerleader," he said immediately, laughing.

"Wait, what?" She stared in open shock.

"Oh, sure," Eddie said, taking a swig of beer. "I mean, it's not like it wasn't obvious. 'S like, we all knew about you, and no straight girl wears cargo pants and combat boots. And the pet names? A little obvious, boss." It was Shego's turn to laugh.

"Yeah," she said sheepishly. "I guess. So I'm guessing everyone knew?" Eddie nodded.

"We had an office pool going amongst the henchmen. I ran it–too bad we returned all the money, I think Chambers would have taken it. He said it'd take about a year longer for you guys to hook up."

"Yeah," Shego allowed, "sounds about right. About six months after the invasion. She saw me at GJ straightening out my pardon, we got coffee. Things went from there."

"So there's trouble in paradise? What, she turn down your marriage proposal?" Shego shook her head, black mood quickly creeping back with the memory. She took another swig of whiskey, finishing the glass.

"Nah, nothing like that. We're not even that serious." She shook her head again, lip curling. "She and I know we don't love each other, but damn if she doesn't look good." Eddie nodded, a small grin on his face, and Shego shot him a smoldering look.

"What?" His voice was hurt, not scared. But then, the two of them had always gotten along. "A guy can look, even if he knows not to touch." Shego didn't look too mollified, and Eddie nodded to himself. It'd be like the boss to get territorial over someone she thought of as "hers", he mused. At least she wasn't staring murderously anymore. "Look," he said by way of a peace offering. "Lemme buy you another one of what you're drinking." He motioned to the bartender. "Another for the lady, Joe, and a refill for me."

Joe arrived shortly with the order, and Eddie handed him a few bills.

"So it ain't serious," he said after a few moments of relative silence, the music the only noise between them. "And yet you're _here_." He waved his arm around, indicating the other patrons. Most of them looked similarly dejected, hunched over glasses of something in the red-tinted half-darkness. When the music paused, you could hear the buzzing of old neon. Shego took another gulp, feeling the warm glow that heralded future drunkenness.

"None of your business, Eddie," she said gruffly. He nodded. The henchman knew Shego, she'd talk when she wanted to.

"All right then, boss." He sipped at his beer until the silence got awkward, and he glanced over at Shego. "Hey, you enjoy bein' legit?"

Shego nodded slowly. "It isn't so bad. A little quiet, but I make do. And I'm not totally out of the game, I just keep a low profile. Just a few pieces of jewelry here and there, the occasional contract. But yeah, it's not bad." Eddie was biting his lip to keep from laughing. "What?" Shego asked, a bit of ire creeping back into her voice.

"Nothing. Just funny hearing you, rattling off small time stuff. Next you'll be telling me you do mail fraud for a bit of extra spending money."

"Shut your face, or I'll shut it for you. Haven't lost the fire, so watch your mouth," she replied, mock-serious. Eddie laughed, and she took another gulp of her drink. The conversation wandered onward, she filling him in on the major events of her life; he telling her the latest gossip on the underworld, and the buzz around Dementor's lair. The drinks piled up, and after a while Shego noticed a heat in her cheeks and a distinct fuzz around the edge of her vision. The bar had emptied out somewhat, and the clock read eleven-fifty. In the corner, a man with too much facial hair and a trucker hat sang quietly along with the song playing from the speakers. Some old country tune, sad and slow.

"So, you seein' anyone, Eddie?" He blinked. Shego's question had come somewhat out of the blue, she realized belatedly, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered too much at the moment, really. He shrugged.

"Nah," the henchman said at length. "Villainy inn't really the best way to meet girls." Shego snorted and shook her head.

"What was I, chopped liver?" Her tone was playfully irate, and Eddie snorted.

"No way, you were the Boss. Who could shoot fire from her hands, an' who was pretty obviously into fuckin' girls." He registered what he'd said a moment later, and looked abashed. "If you'll pardon my French. But seriously, nobody was gonna hit on you, even the dumb ones were too smart fer that." Shego felt her lips twist into a little grin.

"Yeah, I guess." It was true. Most women in villainy were at least bisexual. In a man's world, it helped to be seen as a man in your own right, and nothing said power to men like having piles of money, the ability to kill with ease, or the ability to get any woman in bed. Or all three. And a woman needed that obvious power, if she wanted to be taken seriously.

Shego pushed her latest empty glass away, lost in thought. With Kim, it wasn't about power, or image, or anything. Sure, competition, but it was about her. About them. Having fun, keeping each other company. Someone to come back to after an exhausting mission or a taxing theft. An equal.

"Why is it that when I have a good thing goin', I always screw it up?" Shego's voice broke the silence that she hadn't realized was there. Her voice was pitched low, huskier than usual from the drink, but Eddie heard.

"That came a bit outta nowhere, boss." He set his beer down on the bar as well. "This about th' Cheerleader?" Shego nodded.

"Yeah." She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "So here's the deal with Princess," she said, her tone level. "We're in one o' those fuckbuddy situations, right? I mean, she's in college, I'm a felon, all that jazz. An' neither of us really wanna date the other one, no relationship shit, right?"

Eddie nodded.

"Right," she continued, gesturing vaguely with her hands now, movements exaggerated by the alcohol. "So, we're not, like exclusive, but I kinda know she wouldn't like it if I went and got laid somewhere else, right? But then I was thinkin', look. I'm hot, right? An' I was in Aruba on a job, an' there was this cute li'l blonde thing on th' beach, so I brought her back to my hotel. I guess I felt like I needed t' prove somethin' to myself, or whatever." She folded her arms on the bar and sank down a bit, head bowed.

"But if I really wanted to prove somethin', I wouldn'a done it, I don't think."

The silence lingered for a few moments. Eddie watched Shego as she stretched out one pale arm and waved down Joe the bartender.

"'Nother whiskey." He scowled and moved off to pour the drink. Eddie finished his beer and sat back on the barstool.

"So she didn't take it well when she found out, then?" Eddie's words were a question, but the finality of his voice made it sound like a statement, and Shego glanced at him with a bitter grin.

"Nope." Shego's whiskey arrived, and she took the opportunity to drink for a moment before responding further. "I don' think I've seen her that mad. She didn't shout or anything, she just got all cold an' silent, and she was like: 'I think you'd better leave.'" Shego shrugged miserably. "So I did." Eddie grunted and took another sip of his beer.

"So why was she mad, if you guys were jus' friends with benefits?" Eddie's voice was impassive as he drew a finger through a drop of condensation on the bar. The green woman gave him a look.

"I 'unno," she responded bitingly. "'Cause she's a competitive bitch?" Shego shook her head. "Mebbe she's gotta be the best at everythin', maybe she can't share me." She took another sip of whiskey. "'S her problem anyway."

"An' yet." Eddie fiddled with his beer, smiling expectantly.

"Fuck you, Eddie," Shego said, without rancor. She glanced around out of long habit, taking in the surroundings. Check the doors, check the company, check the shadows. The late crowd was drifting in, the hardcore drinkers on a long bar crawl. Some were talking and laughing, out with friends. Others were Shego's compatriots, grim-faced. Out to put alcohol inside of them, nothing else. She turned back to Eddie, who was still grinning smugly at her. "Ahright, Dan Savage, so it's my problem too. After all, can't eat my cupcake when she's pissed at me."

"Li'l too much info, boss." Shego smirked.

"Suck it," she said. "So you've heard th' whole damn story, what d'you think?"

"You askin' fer advice, boss?" Shego paused, shoulders tensed, before nodding slowly.

"Yeah, guess I am," she said at length.

"Ahright," Eddie laughed. "Gimme a minute to think." He exhaled briefly and drew one finger through the condensation collected from his beer, leaving a smiley-face on the scarred bartop.

"So I'm just gonna say what I think," he said, "an' you can listen or not. First off, sounds t'me like y'aren't ezzactly just fuckbuddies. I mean, c'mon, she's all 'you better leave' 'cause you slept with someone else? Yeah, real no strings attached shit there."

"Well yeah, but that's th'princess though," Shego challenged. "I mean, goodie two-shoes? Yeah, she's totally not gon' have any problems with sleepin' around."

"Right," Eddie said cooly, taking a sip of his drink. "'Cept then there's you. Badass thief, ex-felon, ex-henchwoman fer some crazy meg'lomaniac, yeah. An' here you are, drinkin' yourself into a stupor 'cause yer girl ain't happy with you? Yeah, you really don' care." Shego scowled.

"Gotta go t'the ladies' room," she muttered, sliding off her stool with surprising grace. One hand running along the deserted bar for balance, she stalked off, lips twisted in an ugly grimace.

Eddie was probably right. It rankled her to admit it, but Kimmie probably held a torch for her. That'd be like the girl, too consumed with her own idea of what a relationship _should_ be to simply accept what it _was_. The Princess probably wanted her very own white picket fence, with two and a half kids, two thirds of a dog, half a cat, and an eighth of a fish.

She shoved the bathroom door open and glared at the mirror. Why did this shit have to happen to _her_? Why did _she_ have to attract the pretty, saccharine-sweet heroine? Why couldn't life leave her the fuck _alone_? And why, oh _why_ did the idea of dumping Kimmie leave such a nasty taste in her mouth? With a low growl, Shego slipped into a stall and took a seat on the moderately grungy toilet seat, mind wandering.

So: Kimmiekins had a thing for her. Obvious enough. She'd probably known it for a while, just took Eddie to sit her down and explain it to her. But then, what about her? Eddie was all, "you must secretly love her," which was all very well. Except she _didn't_ love Kimmie. _Of course_ she didn't love Kimmie, that'd be stupid. Oh, she _liked_ Kimmie just fine–in bed, ideally with whipped cream–but love? Pfft.

Business done, Shego pushed her way out of the stall and scrubbed her hands. Damned if she'd leave without disinfectant after _that_ toilet. So she was in a bar, drinking 'cause Kimmie was mad. So what? Kimmie'd pissed her off, and it was a better way to work off anger than messing up that pretty little face. Not that she'd want to. That pretty little face was half of why she was still working out of New York, given the lengths she had to go to to dodge the NYPD these days. 'S not like she cared. If she cared, she'd be trying to "work out her problems," or some shit. Right?

Satisfied, Shego shoved the bathroom door open and slouched back to her barstool. It took her some effort not to stagger, the floor sneaking up on her as she lifted her feet, but she managed. Point of pride, and all. Not like a cat-burglar could be seen fall-down drunk in a bar, right? With only a slight effort, she climbed back onto her perch and speared Eddie with a look.

"I don't love th' Cheerleader," she said, daring him to argue. Instead he gave her a puzzled look.

"Never said y' loved her, Boss." Suddenly, he smirked. "But–but _you_ did. _You_ brought up love. I was just like, 'you must kinda like 'er.' But _you're_ th' one bringin' up _love_." He laughed. "Goddamn. Th' boss has it bad."

Shego's glare could cut glass.

"Thanks, _Freud_," she said bitterly. "If I wanted a shrink, I'd have goddamn gotten one. This is New York City, after all. 'S not like they're rare."

"Hey, y' asked my 'pinion," Eddie said. "'S not my fault if you don' like what I give ya."

"Fuck you."

"I would, but the awkward wakeup is too much t' ask for."

Shego growled, and Eddie desisted. It had taken him a few years, and a few burns, but he knew when not to needle the boss anymore.

"Well, I _don't_," Shego said petulantly. "Love 'er, I mean." Eddie shrugged.

"Okay." Shego's eyes narrowed, and she tried to glare at him. It would have worked better if her eyes didn't keep losing focus.

"That was a _accusatory_ okay," she challenged, poking Eddie's shoulder. "You're _accusin_' me of loving Kimmie."

"No I wasn'," he replied innocently. "I was just sayin' okay."

"It better be _okay_," Shego shot back, turning back to her empty glass. Silence fell. The rest of the bar had quieted down too, with most of the partygoers having moved on. The remaining patrons were of the quiet type, with sullen looks on their faces and a lot of empties in front of them. Mo bustled around, picking up the most egregiously large collections of glasses and shooing out the particularly inebriated.

"So what," Shego said, surprising Eddie. "Y' think Kimmie an' I care 'bout each other? You gonna tell me I need t' talk it out with 'er?" Eddie shrugged.

"Mebbe. 'S not like I'm Doctor Drew or anythin'." The two laughed–Doctor Drew was Drakken's onetime alibi to his mother, a radio pop-psychologist who offered bad advice to sad people.

"Heh, wonder what the Doc'd tell me," Shego mused. "Prob'ly something 'bout how True Love shouldn' be fought or somethin'. He always was a sap."

"There y' go bringin' up love again, Boss," Eddie needled.

"Shut th' fuck up, Eddie Griggs, or I'll give y' a plasma haircut."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, boss." He paused and fiddled with his glass before setting it down upright in front of him with an air of finality. "Listen, I gotta go soon," he said. "Errands t' run tomorrow an' stuff. But hey, you want one las' piece of advice?" Shego shrugged.

"What th' hell. Shoot."

"'Kay," he said, fishing through his pockets for his wallet. "Look, like I said, I dunno anythin' about your life or whatever, but I think y' oughtta give this thing with th' Cheerleader a chance, 'kay?"

"That's what I've been doin' for like, a year an' a half," Shego protested.

"No, y' haven't. You've been all 'we're not in a _relationship_ 'cause it'd never _work_ an' blah-blah-blah. Let yerself feel somethin' for her. Don't hook up with girls atta beach in th' Caribbean. Jus' see what happens." Eddie fished out a wad of crumpled bills and put them on the bartop. Joe the bartender, in a rare display of speed, was there in an instant to deliver the bill. He pocketed the money quickly and scooped up Eddie's abandoned beer glasses in one go, showing a surprising degree of manual dexterity in his stumpy fingers.

"See ya around, boss," Eddie said, rising. Shego grunted in reply and gave a sort of half-wave. The ex-henchman snorted and brushed past her, elbowing the door open. A breeze blew in, stirring Shego's hair a bit. She glanced at her long-empty glass, then at the door. Probably enough for one night.

"Put it on m' tab, Joe," she said, rising to go before he could demand payment.

"You wanna keep drinking in here, you pay your bill!" Joe thundered as she breezed a bit unsteadily through the door. The hell with it. She'd take care of it another evening.

The night was cool. Shego drew her thin jacket tighter to herself and started walking north, towards her apartment uptown. It had evidently rained while she'd been in the bar; the streets were wet and the trees planted along the sidewalk dripped on her hair. Her mind wandered.

She'd been out of the game for two years, or thereabouts. She had enough money squirreled away to live three lifetimes in style; weekend getaways to Aruba, dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria, and a wardrobe tailored bespoke by Italians. She could live the good life, free of the fear of arrest and conviction. By all rights, she should be happy. She should be living large, luxuriating in her magnificent penthouse view of New York and partying with rock stars. It wasn't as though her name wasn't known–not after she'd saved the world. The UN decoration was still hanging on her wall. Maybe that sent the wrong message for a woman who couldn't give a damn about the UN. Anyway.

Shego wasn't doing any of those things. She drew her jacket tighter as she crossed a street, her boots splashing in one of the ubiquitous puddles. She muttered a curse: they were expensive and she liked them–getting them covered with city grime wasn't part of the plan, tonight. Instead of partying or vacationing, she was mooning over a girl who was eight years younger than her, getting drunk in a dive bar in one of the less wonderful bits of the Bronx, and getting mud on her boots.

Why? Why the _hell_ was she doing this? Shego folded her arms crossly. She was in _New York_. She could be doing _anything on Earth_. So why was she drunk and morose, walking a dark street after midnight? Why was she even _thinking_ like this?

Thinking was not Shego's strong suit. Oh, she wasn't stupid–far from it. _I'm smarter than the Doc, for damn sure_, she thought savagely. But she didn't generally care to think through her problems. Better to be doing something about them. Preferably punching the cause. It started to rain again, a light and steady drizzle, just hard enough to get her thoroughly wet. Not even the excitement of a true rainstorm, just miserable dampness. Damn it all. She walked faster, mind working through the clearing haze of alcohol.

It would be... unpleasant not to see Kim anymore. The girl was obnoxious, self-righteous and kind of a high-strung bitch, sure. But she was fun, she was cute, and she was kind to living things. She was affectionate and personable; fun at parties. A good conversationalist, when she wasn't being annoying. Put that way, she was a perfectly lovely girl, the sort that you'd want to take home to meet your parents.

Your parents don't deal with the crazy, jealous girl who can't share. They don't deal with the girl whose chosen strategy for winning an argument is to remind you of everything you've ever done wrong in your life, and hold it over you like some kind of pissing contest in morality. Shego shuddered as a rivulet of rainwater coursed its way down the back of her neck. She crossed her arms, hugging herself to keep out the cold.

On the other hand, she reflected, Kim clearly cared about her. That was sort of new, and she wasn't sure what she thought about it yet. Oh, she'd been in the odd relationship, and sex was easy enough to come by. But Kim was the first one to seemingly _care_; to take a genuine interest in Shego for her own sake. It was a little unnerving, really, to be so intensely adored by someone–and Eddie was right, Kim _did_ adore her. It was pretty obvious, from the other woman's bright smiles at Shego's appearance at her door to her soft awakening caresses come morning.

Kim liked her, which meant she'd been a bit of an ass. Shego felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, recalling her nonchalant manner when she'd admitted to sleeping with a girl during her brief stay in the Caribbean. Oops. Okay, so Eddie wasn't totally wrong: Kimmie had a decent reason to be pissed.

Shego reached her corner and turned, walking halfway down the block before hurrying into the lobby of the Hotel Thirty Thirty. She shook her head slightly, the spray of droplets falling on the marble floor. Stan the night doorman nodded his greetings and Shego gave him an answering grin–no reason to be rude to the staff. With a click of bootheels, she made her way to the elevators and thumbed the up button.

With nothing to distract her while the elevator took its sweet time, Shego's thoughts drifted. Seeing Eddie had sparked memories of her days with Drakken, and while the doctor's schemes had been a bit stupid, they'd been the source of some decent adventures. The life of a thief could get boring–after all, only so many security systems, and when you'd figured out how to beat them, the adrenaline faded fast. With the Doc it had been all death rays, missions to steal some piece of explodium or an expensive whatever, and the promise of a good fight with a cute girl.

The Doc could be a dweeb, but he'd made her life interesting. The elevator arrived with a _ding_, and she stepped inside. Shego mashed the button marked "P"–Penthouse, since all those ill-gotten gains had to be put to use, after all–and waited while the elevator climbed its thirty-odd floors. She yawned and her ears popped. Yeah, the Doc had been a pretty good business partner. They still exchanged emails, sometimes, but he was off doing the lecture circuit. He had the fame he'd always wanted.

And what did she have? Okay, she had a penthouse condo in Brooklyn, more money than she could easily spend, and the occasional gray-market job. But there was Drakken, _Time_'s Man of the Year. Honorary doctorate from half of the fucking planet, and the recognition he'd always craved desperately. He was a happy man, and it showed in their infrequent communications. Well, good. More power to him. Drakken was a good guy, really.

So where'd that leave _her_? The elevator came to a gentle stop and Shego breezed out the door, keycard in hand, and stalked down the elegant beige hallway to her room. So. Here she was, living in a nice New York hotel, piles of money, just past thirty but not telling anyone that. No need to work now, or ever. Living the good life.

Sure.

She was bored. Alcohol could sometimes have a mind-clearing effect on Shego, and tonight was one such occasion. Between her unexpected heart-to-heart with Eddie–_ugh, goin' soft there, much?_–and Sweet Lady Whiskey, she was facing some awkward reflection tonight. Shego rammed her keycard into the slot a bit more violently than intended, and wrenched open the door. The maids had been in, clearly, since her battalion of shoes were organized. Shego shucked her jacket and yanked off her boots, casting them unceremoniously in the corner before padding into the suite's elegant living room.

Well. Nothing better to start some uncomfortable self-examination off with than more whiskey. She snagged a glass from the cupboard and poured herself a liberal three fingers of Laphroaig. A decently sized part of her recognized that all this drinking was unhealthy, and she sternly promised herself that she would examine her drinking habits–_tomorrow_. Shego flopped into the nearest chair, glass in hand, and put her feet up on the matching ottoman that was part of the room's standard _décor_.

Where was she going? What did she want? They weren't questions that she asked herself often. Usually there was something going on in her life–leave home, make it in the Underworld, steal something for Dr. D, whatever. Now, not so much. Money she had, and respect. She was free from her family. She'd achieved the goals that she'd set for herself as an angry teenager. Okay, so. Now what? She sipped from her glass, savoring the flavor that was so, _so_ much better than the crap she'd been drinking with Eddie. Smoky. Like the smell of a campfire made from the timbers of a fucking mansion.

Why was it hitting her now? She'd been "out of work" for over two years–ever since Dr. D got his medal–and it hadn't bugged her. Okay. So, what was different now?

After the invasion, they'd basically given up crime. There wasn't much left to steal, really, since most of the world's money had gone into rebuilding. The Doc had gotten his medal, and Shego wasn't enough of an idiot to steal money that was going into bringing back running water and electricity. She _liked_ hot showers. So she'd started getting her assets in order. What money had previously existed in a dozen shady bank accounts was laundered, a job she'd been meaning to do for a couple of years, and then invested in construction firms and a few of those green industries that the government was talking about subsidizing. It had taken about a year of careful manipulating, but she'd finally done it.

And then she'd bumped into Kimmie in Manhattan. It had been in the fall, when the younger woman was starting her sophomore year at Columbia. After a few tense minutes, Princess had proposed a truce and bought them both coffee, and they whiled away a Saturday afternoon chatting about old times.

Most people's "old times" didn't include death traps. Shego grinned. They'd hit it off once again, the camaraderie that had appeared during their occasional bouts of co-operation coming back full-force. The coffee date became two girls meeting for dinner. Then Shego, showing the younger woman a good time in New York–a city that could offer anything. Then sex. Many, many times. Apparently, for Kim it had morphed seamlessly into a relationship. Being honest with herself, Shego could see how that was a reasonable assumption. They did dinner regularly. They caught movies and went dancing. For her, it had always been a prelude to sex, but as she drained her glass, sobriety gone, she could admit in the solitude of her room that the companionship was just as good.

She set her glass down on the chair's arm and bit the knuckle of her thumb, mind racing through the rather choppy sea of returned drunkenness. What if Eddie was right? The voice inside her head that asked the question was small, but insistent. It sounded like Kim. What if she liked Kimmie more than she wanted to admit?

What would that mean?

Shego exhaled in an angry huff. She prided herself on being independent. A line from a book she'd once read as a teenager ran through her head–_he was sufficient for himself_. That's what she'd always wanted to be. It had been her conscious project for over a decade. Sufficient for herself. Her own woman. Not dependent on anyone. She'd stand alone, in front, or not at all. Alone.

Alone? Was that what she wanted? The darker part of Shego's psyche extrapolated ruthlessly. Ten years on, alone: still proud of it, independent and wealthy. Twenty years on: careful investment turning stolen millions into honest billions. Thirty years on: Penthouse of a better hotel, as much control of the criminal underworld as she wanted. Kingmaker and puppeteer at sixty. You want information? Get in touch with Shego's organization. She knows Big Daddy Brotherson's secrets, the fat fuck. Sure as hell she knows yours. Forty years on. Anything she wanted at her beck and call. Small nations would pay to do business with her and her network. Crime was back, the world had moved on from its little apocalypse. Fifty years on: she was eighty. Above life-expectancy for the average American. Gray hair, feeble eyes. She runs a criminal organization in name, but really it's her lieutenants, jockeying for position. The old lady has to die sometime.

And that was the end of that story. Eventually she'd die. Okay, big fuckin' deal, so did everyone. Shego wasn't much for existential crises, but as she refilled her glass she wondered. Dead at eighty something. The only people who care are the ones who want your job. What the hell kind of life was that? Independent was a good goal–for an angry girl who wanted to get away from her brothers. Independent wasn't a life goal. It didn't get you anywhere. Shego squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands into fists.

What the fuck was she _doing_? What did she _want_? The questions, uncomfortable as always, came back to needle her. She forced her eyes open–it was a stupid gesture, closing her eyes–and looked around the room. Elegant furnishings, sterile after the modern fashion. Lots of cool blues and grays, glass and brushed aluminum. This was her life.

Shego had always liked simplicity. Her rooms in Drakken's old labs had been like this–few personal mementos, as much an office as a home. Too much clutter was obnoxious. It distracted. She'd always ruthlessly discarded whatever she didn't absolutely need. It was efficient, elegant, clean.

And very, very empty. She looked again. The artwork that hung on the walls was in the modern style, reproductions of Jackson Pollock or whoever the fuck did the things with the squares. It had been provided by the hotel. A neat stack of paperwork sat on her desk, her shoes were in a pile by the door. There was a bottle of whiskey on the counter. Besides that, there wasn't anything of her to the room. The daily maid service had cleaned it all away quite efficiently, leaving no trace of Shego behind.

Since when had her life gotten this goddamn grim? She remembered quite keenly how it felt to not be worried about this crap–most of her time up until now had, in fact, been spent giving this topic almost zero thought. Why _now_? What had changed?

Another nagging voice in her head spoke, this time–infuriatingly–with the voice of Eddie Griggs. _Kim Possible changed. She tossed you out on your sorry ass, Boss, and now you're regretting it like a sad little girl._ Shego ground her teeth. If it actually _had_ been Eddie saying that, she'd have socked him one in the gut. But it wasn't Eddie. It was her. Goddammit.

Shego set the glass down on the floor, barely resisting the urge to throw it at the wall. Time had been she would have. What had changed?

Easy answer, really. Kimmie had changed. Changed _her_, really. She bit the inside of her cheek. Damned if she wasn't going to see her drunken musings out to the end. Kimmie had _changed her_. Like a stupid Lifetime movie. And Shego, the master thief, the most dangerous woman in the world, _didn't care that much_. Fuck. She was honest-to-God going soft.

Shego glanced at the clock and was startled to see the time read 4:21. Not gonna be getting up early tomorrow. Screw it.

Eddie's voice from earlier drifted back, this time quoting the man himself. _Goddamn. Th' boss has it bad._ Oh, if only he knew. Because it was true, Shego admitted bitterly. She had it bad. She missed Kim's easy smile, which had been hers just yesterday. She missed the unbelievably sweet, almost sappy gestures the the other girl made. A chocolate with green mint-goo inside of it. What the hell, Kimmie? Like I've never seen the "mint and chocolate" shit before.

Still, it had made a good present.

Shego felt her face warm, not unpleasantly, at the memories of Kim's stupid jokes. Of the Girl Who Could Do Anything, fretting over exams. Of waking up next to someone who actually bothered to stay for breakfast.

How long would Kim stay, she wondered. For breakfast? For a year? Ten? Fifty? Would Kim stick around after the glamor of dating a millionaire thief wore off? Would she stay once she was trying to get a career?

Breakfast would be an okay place to start.


	2. Night

Kim Possible looked up from her book at the feeling of a cold breeze, shivering slightly, and glanced at the clock. It read two eleven AM, the numbers glowing a somewhat sullen red in the apartment's half darkness. She sighed and felt her brows knit together, before setting her book on the nightstand and crossing her arms in irritation.

"Miss me, Pumpkin?" Kim glared at the other woman, silhouetted in the dark of her bedroom door. She had her arms up at shoulder level, elbows braced against the doorframe and gloved hands hanging languidly down the sides. Her black hair shone in the dim light cast by the New York cityscape outside, hundreds of lit windows casting their glow throughout the city. Her face was shadowed, the door was too far from the bed for the little lamp on the nightstand to reveal much, but Kim could imagine the smirk on her girlfriend's face.

"It's two in the morning! Where the hell have you been? And you could at least close the window? It's cold in here." Shego dropped her arms and undid the clasp of her catsuit, stepping into the bedroom. She shook her head convulsively, drops of melted snow sparkling in the lamplight, and ran gloved hands through black hair before making her way to the closet.

"Just out for a bit of a stroll." She stripped off the gloves of her signature catsuit and unclipped her ankle pouch before tossing the latter to Kim, who caught it reflexively. "Got you something." The younger woman grimaced, fighting curiosity. Shego's "gifts" weren't really the high point of her week, and the other woman knew it. They were invariably tasteful and Kim hated to do it, but she could never accept a stolen gift. "You know I'll return it tomorrow night, Kimmie. I'll even buy you one to replace it, if you want," Shego continued to undress, peeling off the catsuit in a way that Kim had never, ever been able to stop finding sexy.

"That's not the point, and you know it." It was an old argument, and Kim left it at that. Too many times, they'd butted heads over the same things, and they'd both learned to leave some of them be. Kim looked at the ankle pouch, feeling the weight of a long, rectangular box inside. A necklace, probably a stunning one from Tiffany's down on Fifth Avenue, and she fought down the desire to open the box, to look, even if she wouldn't be keeping it. Later, once Shego was well and truly asleep, Kim would creep into the bathroom, turn on the light, and take a look. Not now, not when she'd give the grinning thief the satisfaction.

Shego hung her catsuit on a hanger beside two others, and stepped into a pair of silk pajama bottoms. A bit of quiet rustling produced an old, black tee shirt, which she shrugged on before slipping into bed beside Kim. The redhead shot her an aggrieved look.

"Window." Shego pouted. "_Now_." She rolled her eyes, slipped from the bed and padded off through the apartment. In the nighttime glow, she was able to make her way without tripping over any of the luxurious, leather furniture. She dodged an end table beside the loveseat and grinned wryly at the photographs that Kim insisted on putting there, photos of the two of them, of family, of friends. The apartment's spare, modern lines were broken from time to time by similar knickknacks and mementos, tokens of past lives. Over the gas fireplace, two stylized keys occupied the center of the display, and Shego blushed a bit. They weren't identical, or even similar looking. One was mounted on a mahogany plaque, and without seeing it Shego could remember the writing in bronze.

_For Shego, With Thanks_

_Go City, 1999_

Kim had insisted, of course, when she'd found it. Shego grinned at the memory of that argument, which had lasted for days and had only ended when Kim, tired of sleeping on the couch, had threatened to fight it out with her unless she could sleep in the bed again. There had certainly been some contact as a result, but it wasn't fists and feet. Shego's grin grew predatory. Makeup sex was the best.

The other key was, frankly, a little tacky looking. It was big and metallic, attached to a fat blue ribbon. Gold letters glittered on the ribbon, proclaiming proudly:

_Kim Possible_

_With Gratitude from the City of Middleton_

_2007_

She tolerated that one because Kim liked it, and that was enough. It made Kimmie happy to remember her heroing days, and a few years into college she didn't have time for quite so much world-saving, so the memories were important to her. Shego didn't mind, as long as she wasn't getting arrested and could come home at night, so up on the mantlepiece the key had gone.

"Shego, what are you doing out there?" Kim's voice, soft and perplexed, floated out of the bedroom. "Shut the window and come to bed." The older woman shook her head slightly and covered the remaining distance to the window before cranking it shut. _Whoops, must have drifted off there for a second. Later than I thought_. She padded back to bed and snuggled down beneath the covers, resting a gentle and slightly possessive arm around her lover. _Mine_.

Kim glanced down at the pale, slightly green arm around her middle. She grinned widely and closed her book. Shego's touches were sweet and caring, but the other woman liked to "mark her territory," as it were. She felt a little bubble of warmth in her chest. Sometimes it felt good to be possessed. Her book went on the nightstand as she reached up to turn off the lamp, bathing the room in the diffuse New York glow.

"Night, Shego." The older woman raised her head and planted a soft kiss on Kim's temple.

"Night, cupcake."


	3. The Bachelor Party

A/N: I do not own the KPverse, the characters, and the like. This scene written with apologies to the creators of _House_.

Shego grinned wolfishly as she slipped her stiletto between the window and the pane. She jiggled it a bit, and breathed out a soft _huff_ of satisfaction as she felt the simple latch begin to slide along the narrow blade. With a practiced flick, she unlatched the window and pushed it open gently, pleased at the silent sound. She'd checked that earlier, when she'd scoped out the target during daylight hours. Lazy she might be, but Shego wasn't the best thief in the world for nothing, and only a fool began a heist without scoping the target beforehand.

Window open, she slipped her body into the darkened room, the barest hint of a breeze stirring her hair. Shego's eyes darted back and forth, keeping careful eye on her surroundings. There was her target, in the middle of the room. On the counter, his longtime companion, who would not be joining the target this evening. With her usual grace, Shego padded across the floor of the room to the target's bedside, stowing her stiletto inside her ankle pouch as she went. She was always well armed; the stiletto was a tool, not a weapon. And it was unnecessary for this job, anyway.

She sat down on the bed, slowly, and placed a hand over her target's mouth.

"Yell and I knock you out, Buffoon," she whispered, her voice redolent with threats of terrible violence. The target's eyes snapped open–guess he wasn't as useless as she'd always figured–and he sat upright. Shego kept her hand over Ron Stoppable's mouth, moving like greased lightning to settle behind him. Her other arm quickly bound his to his sides, and making use of her considerable strength Shego dragged him to his feet. She snickered, hauling the tall, gangling young man towards the window. "Be glad you live on the first floor. Else, I might not be able to keep my promise about delivering you unharmed..."

She pushed the window open with her foot, and dragged a feebly struggling Ron behind her. On the counter, Rufus the molerat chittered with confusion. Humans were very strange.

"Uh, so I think KP went a little overboard on the kidnapping thing," Ron said uncertainly. Shego gave him a look, smirking once again at his neatly bound wrists and ankles. "I mean, I sort of expected rent-a-cops picking me up from the restaurant, or something. Maybe Global Justice, if she was feeling adventurous. But kidnapping in the middle of the night? You're lucky Yori's still in Japan, she'd have freaked. I mean, she's okay with Kim, but you _know_ she doesn't trust you yet, Shego." The thief frowned and turned her head, the glow of the red light making her green complexion glow strangely in the dark. A long, manicured finger tapped at the steering wheel impatiently.

"Kimmie had nothing to do with this. This is all me, Stoppable." Ron blinked.

"But, I asked KP to be my best man. This whole deal is _her_ job, not yours!" An edge of worry crept into his voice, growing as he continued to speak. "Uh, this _is_ the bachelor party, right?" Shego turned her head again. "Uh, _right_?" She schooled her face into casual incomprehension.

"Bachelor party?" Ron's eyes bugged out, and he started to struggle.

"I knew it! This is a contracted kidnapping! Shego, look. I know you still take the odd, uh, extralegal job here and there, but I don't think Kim'll be real happy with you for this. And, uh, Yori–" Shego threw her head back and laughed, accelerating with a squeal of rubber as the light turned green.

"Shut it, Stoppable. I was _kidding_." Shego whipped around a corner and Ron, not braced for it, was thrown against the passenger door of the car. "Kimmie's idea of a bachelor party involved beers at the Crow." She grimaced ruefully and looked out the window. _Gah! I love ya, princess, but sometimes you can be such a–_ "So I took over for her. Relax, she's still giving the toasts and stuff, so you can be sure the whole wedding party won't hear about that night with Adrena Lynn. Or how I once saw Doctor D. kick your ass. Or how no matter what anyone says, you never really beat Monkey Fist in a fair fight–"

"Okay, okay! Yeesh." Ron colored and looked away. "I get the point." Shego grinned again and stomped on the accelerator, pressing Ron back into his seat. Kim always complained about her driving, so when the other woman wasn't in the car, she took the opportunity to really let go. The route was memorized by now, and she smiled deliciously at the thought of her girlfriend's expression when the redhead saw exactly _how_ Shego had decided to do the bachelor party. Ooohh, that would be fun.

"We're here," she announced cheerily, hanging a hard left into the driveway of a smallish apartment building. Ron gave her a confused look, and she idly wondered if he had any other expressions or if it was simply the default one.

"But, isn't this..."

"Yeah, what of it?" Her expression brooked absolutely no further discussion, so Ron let it go. With a single lit finger, Shego cut his bindings and dragged him to his feet. "Now Stoppable, you're gonna have fun tonight, understand?" Ron nodded meekly, and Shego's grin was terrifying.

Shego, dressed in a green and black cheongsam, was unquestionably the Mistress of Ceremonies. With a pair of gorgeous, lingere-clad women on her arm and a glass of fine scotch in her hand, she gave off something of a Hugh Hefner figure, and the green woman clearly luxuriated in the role. She flicked a nail against her glass a few times, producing an unlikely and clear note from the glassware.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The assembled guests and entertainers–beautiful young women clad similarly to Shego's own arm candy–turned to look at her, the chatter dying quickly. She stood before a tower of shot glasses, filled to the brim with Bacardi 151. The tower was made up of concentric rings of glass, and at the top was poised a single, tilted brandy snifter with slightly more than a shot filling the wide glass. Shego, for her part, was the picture of solemnity, her face so earnest and serious that not even the scantily clad women beside her could make her seem less so.

"We are here tonight to mourn the passing of Ron Stoppable. Mister Stoppable was a courageous, loyal and dedicated friend. He was not a natural fighter, but his fidelity was such that he willingly went into danger beside the young heroine Kim Possible. When the two of them went into semiretirement to complete their schooling, Ron decided to follow his passions: cheap food and Asian schoolgirls." A chorus of laughter from the assembled ninja, chefs and others rose as Shego paused. The two women on her arms pouted cutely.

"One Asian schoolgirl in particular proved to be the downfall of our noble friend. This woman–nay!–this _scheming harridan_ conspired to take Ron Stoppable from us. She laid her plans well, tempting him with her nefarious, exotic charms. A master of the oriental arts of deceit, she insinuated herself into Ron's life, into his heart, into his soul. In the end, no true man could have resisted her. She has taken Ron Stoppable from us irrevocably, and worse yet, she has done so with his willing consent.

"But we, his friends, will not let him go gentle into that good night. Nay! We shall send him off as befits him! Ron Stoppable," Shego cried, her voice rising to a shout. "Come forward!" A grinning, blushing Ron was pushed to her side, and the girls on Shego's arms slithered around him instead. "Ron, though you have given yourself to a life in the kitchen," she paused until the catcalls died down. "We who know you here declare: you have the soul of a warrior!" The assembled ninja cheered and raised their glasses. "Though your humble friends lack the means for a true warrior's funeral, we have resolved that you should not depart unheralded. We shall send you off, as the old gods commanded, with _fire_!" On the last word, Shego aimed her finger at the bottom of the pyramid of glasses, and a single burst of green flame jumped from her fingertip to the bottom-most glass.

It caught instantly, and the fire lept from glass to glass. It touched each in turn, and the cheers began to rise with the fire. As the flames climbed higher, Shego beckoned a flustered Ron forward, and gestured imperiously toward the brandy snifter that occupied the pyramid's apex. As if at her command, the rising flames touched off the liquor inside the snifter, and with some prompting from the green Mistress of Ceremonies, Ron plucked it from the fire. Those who knew him held their breath, expecting the entire flaming apparatus to fall as a result of the blonde man's usual clumsiness, but the "old gods" were smiling on him and he lifted the glass in triumph.

To the cheers of the room, Ron extinguished the glass with his hand, and drank the entire glass with a single gulp. He grimaced and spluttered, to the rather fetching amusement of his two female companions, and was escorted back into the crowd. Shego smiled broadly.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, a few ground-rules for the evening. Firstly, no sex on the bed in the next room, that one belongs to yours truly." A few laughs. "Secondly, yes. These girls _are_ all working their way through law school–don't quiz them–"

"_Shego!_" The green woman winced at the voice, a clear soprano that cut through the low throb of the rock music playing in the background, and contemplated her still-mostly-full scotch. Shego was no coward, but she would need the help to deal with this. She tossed it back, not even bothering to relish the taste of smoke and fire, and placed the empty glass on an available table suitably far from the guttering tower of burning alcohol. She turned slowly, to see a rather angry looking Kim Possible stalking toward her through the partygoers and working girls. With an abashed look into the crowd, she made an effort not to slink off the stage.

"Hiya, cupcake," Shego said in her best "don't hurt me I love you" voice. "I knew you couldn't stay away." Kim's look was equal parts exasperation, incredulity and anger, but the older woman was pleased to note the smallest hint of amusement in her lover's green eyes.

"Shego, this is my _apartment_. You can't do this!" The thief grinned.

"Reality begs to differ." She gestured grandly, the sweep of her arm taking in a pair of occupied stripper poles, two long tables covered with Bueno Nacho's finest on the left and the fruits of several distilleries on the right. Rented speakers blasted hard rock, something with enough of a beat to dance to. It had been Shego's choice, of course. Not a chance in hell that the music at one of _her_ parties would be rap.

"Where–" Kim spluttered. "Where's my furniture?" Shego grinned.

"I put it out back. Don't worry, there's only a forty percent chance of rain..." She'd actually spent most of her day and the first bit of her evening dragging everything to a storage compartment rented for the next two days. No way was she ruining Kimmie's stuff just to give the Buffoon a good party. Kim started to say something else, her cheeks flushing with anger, and Shego worried for a moment she'd miscalculated. Fortunately for all, someone interrupted the growing spat.

"Ohmygod, _Kim!_" The redhead's eyes widened.

"Tara?" She shot Shego a look, surprise untinted,this time, with any anger. "You found– you hired _Tara?_" Shego nodded and gave her lover a gentle push. Kim had been complaining the other day about having lost touch with most of the cheer squad, and a little digging later had revealed that Tara, at least, was in fact paying her way through college by doing less than savory work. An idea had formed. Shego crossed her arms and watched the two friends.

"So you're not marrying Ron?" Tara was smiling absently.

"Ah, no." Kim blushed. "We, um, split up." Tara tilted her head sideways.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry to hear that." She didn't sound terribly sorry, but Shego was getting the impression that Tara wasn't quite the sharpest crayon on the tree.

"No big. Uh, how's your... cat?" Kim sounded genuinely lost, and the older woman smirked. _Not quite the best conversation opener, Kimmie._

"Dead," Tara grabbed Kim by the hand impulsively. "Hey! Let's go have a drink!"

Sometime later, and through a slight mist of alcohol, Shego stood with her arm wrapped gently around Kim's waist. She grinned widely as Ron, by now quite drunk, licked a line of salt off of Tara's navel. He continued licking–quite scandalously–upward, and snagged the shot of tequila nestled between Tara's breasts with his teeth. He downed it too, not even wincing by now, and dropped the glass into Tara's waiting hand. His face rose to meet hers, and he snagged the lime held in her teeth and bit down. Ron drank the juice, spat out the lime, and gave Tara a chaste kiss on the lips before pumping his fist.

"Booya!" There were a number of cheers, but Shego just snorted. She could do better than that. Passing her drink to a startled Kim, she sashayed over to Tara, who had just finished replacing shot glass, salt and lime. With a devilish smile, Shego bent down and fluidly licked up the salt over the other woman's bellybutton. She too trailed her tongue up Tara's svelte body before making a detour to tease the lower swell of one of her breasts–Shego nearly laughed as she heard Kim gasp with surprise–and then quickly took her shot.

It burned like fire and tasted like death, but Shego didn't care. Cheap tequila was no stranger to her, and she swallowed gamely before letting the glass fall into her hand and kissing Tara passionately. The other woman tensed and then relaxed, pushing the lime into Shego's mouth with her tongue, and she bit down. The juice cooled her tongue and she let Tara go before slinking back to Kim.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor, cupcake." She slid her arms around her lover. "And don't worry, the blonde chick ain't much of a kisser." Kim didn't say anything, but she looked at Shego with hungry eyes. In them lurked a challenge, and Shego released the redhead. Kim stalked over to her old friend and smiled, repeating the other woman's performance with the more direct, take-charge style that she had about everything. Shego felt the familiar stirrings of desire as she watched intently, but was surprised to feel an arm draped companionably about her shoulder. She followed it back to its owner, and was mildly shocked to see Will Du, looking rather red-faced and unsteady.

"You're sure you're okay with this, Shego?" He gestured to Kim, who was running her tongue rather salaciously down Tara's cleavage while the other ex-cheerleader giggled around the lime.

"Okay with this? I'm paying fifty bucks for this, Secret Agent Man." Will nodded sagely.

"Right. Trust... trust is key. You guys are great together, you know that? Really great." He laughed and patted Shego on her shoulder. "I–I gotta get some air." Shego smirked and refocused on Kim, who was making a fair effort at sucking Tara's tongue out of her skull. Oh, God. _So gonna screw Kimmie tonight._

"Ohhh... _fuck_." Shego groaned and scrubbed at her eyes. It felt like she'd just been hit by a meteor. Again. Gaaaaah. Beside her, she felt Kim's dead weight on her shoulder, still slumbering peacefully. Goddamn redhead and her goddamn ability to sleep even with a fucking searchlight in her eyes. Shego squinted. No searchlight, just the morning. Fuck morning.

..._morning?_ Oh shit.

"Kimmie," Shego said, gently shaking the naked woman beside her. "Kimmie, we gotta get up. Like now. Like seriously right now." She checked the clock. Seven o'clock. Wedding at noon. Fuuuck. "_Kimmie_. We. Need. To. Get. Up!" Kim started.

"Ka-wha? Sheeg? M'head!" Kim clutched at the offending skull, her eyes screwed shut against the day. "M'head hurts!"

"Don't care, princess. You've got a groom to deliver, if you don't want shuriken embedded in your cute little ass." Shego smirked. She could shake off a hangover from long experience, but Kim wasn't too heavy a drinker. Sure, she could hold her own, but it'd be years before she could wake up and go like the older woman could. "Now get the rings, and get your dress, and we'll get the groom together. Last I saw, he was in a heap with Secret Agent Man, Brandie, Candy and Caramel. I [i]think[/i] they were all wearing clothes..."

Kim crawled out of bed slowly and went to her wardrobe, fishing around. It was open, which was unusual–Kim was pretty neat with her things–and after about six minutes of rummaging Shego poked her girlfriend on her bare rear end. "Oy, get a move on. We've got a buffoon to sober up so Miss Ninja doesn't cut us into little bitty pieces."

"Shego... I can't find the rings!"


End file.
